


beautifully aggressive and perfectly obsessive

by StrangeHormones



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Counter Sex, Creampie, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: bo sinclair x reader| request| i don’t need much, i just need you to need me
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/Reader
Kudos: 58





	beautifully aggressive and perfectly obsessive

**Author's Note:**

> request; Bo woke up one morning (well, early afternoon thanks to all his drinking the night before) and S/O wasn't there. Because he is Dramatic and Needy despite his efforts to pretend he's not, he immediately assumes S/O left him. So when they waltz in fifteen minutes later, with groceries bought to make a special dinner for their one year anniversary that night, he knocks the bag to the floor and bends them over the counter so they NEVER forget who they belong to

Bo hadn’t even bothered to get dressed, instead busying himself with staring at the kitchen door, the small of his back pressed against the counter as he ran through the last 48 hours in his mind with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing had seemed out of place in the moment, or after the second, third, and fourth glance. Not a hair had seemed out of place but your absence meant that clearly he had missed something. He was about to go over it for the sixth time, wondering what exactly he’d done to run you off between falling asleep in a tangle of limbs and waking up alone this morning when he heard tires crunching on gravel. He hopes it’s you but he knows it’s probably Lester. Rubbing his hand across his face with a sigh he tries not to feel the pit in his stomach or the giant hole eating away at his heart at the realization that you had gone. Just like he always expected you would. 

“Dammit,” it isn’t his youngest brother’s voice, one that never fails to remind those around him what a bumbling idiot he can be, but the frustrated quiet growl he’d come to know, “No, no, I’m sure we have onions,” the crinkle of paper bags are muffled through the door but the slam of the car’s door is anything but.

He stands straight, in nothing but an undershirt and his drawers he swears to pretend like he’d never let those thoughts scramble through his mind, just like he always did. This time he wasn’t so successful. You’ve got a paper bag clenched in each hand when you step through the door, kicking it closed behind you and gasping just the barest bit upon the realization you weren’t alone.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” you laughed, setting one bag and then the other on the counter, “Ruins the surprise if you’re awake." 

Normally he’d have some smart-ass joke about showing you a surprise, but it’s like he can’t think. He needed you; he had spent this morning absolutely sure you had left him with nothing. Not even a note. It was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Bo was nothing but a bundle of raw nerves and animal instinct that focused entirely on you. Which you might’ve recognized if you had been paying attention to the moment at hand rather than worrying about if maybe you hadn’t gotten enough beef for the main course, elbow-deep in one of the bags.

One arm slithers around your waist, holding you tight against him as he pressed himself into your backside, the sharp edge of the counter biting into the skin of your hips left exposed between the top of your skirt and the bottom of your tank top. You try to stutter out anything really. Where you had been? Why? But it’s impossible when his lips trace the curve of your neck with his lips, panting through his nose as he squeezed you tighter, his calloused fingertips trail up your thigh, bunching the fabric as he made his way towards the waistband of your panties. All you can manage is pressing your hands to the counter, the sound of the bag you’d been working on emptying tumbling, and its contents rolling about is muffled by his breath and your blood rushing in your ears.

“Bend over,” his voice is quiet, hooking his thumb through the band and yanking it down as far as he could, the other side of your panties dragging an inch behind.

You huff out a quiet sound, something between laughter and disbelief. There were rules. Bo’s biggest was that he wouldn’t share you. But here in the kitchen with both brothers uncounted for could only lead to getting caught.

“I ain’t kidding sweetheart.”

You push both bags off the counter. Everything splats, clatters and rolls but nothing matters than this moment. His middle finger dipping between your lips to swirl around that little bud that made you far too malleable in his hands. You don’t bend over so much as you fall forward but it’s all the same to Bo. It leaves you at his mercy. His arm slithers away just as quickly just as quickly as it appeared, hiking your skirt over the round of your ass. 

You came back. It’s all he could think, listening to you whimper at his deliberate motions. The same slow circle that’s enough to start lifting you on your toes but it won’t lead you anywhere. You’d gone to get groceries for some surprise. For him. Which meant you had to love him, it was the only reason you would’ve come back from civilization on your own. You wanted to be here. With him. And everything that meant. The relief with the sudden realization is too much. He makes a promise to make it up to you, you more than deserve it, but he can’t stop himself. Bent over the kitchen counter, on the tip-toes of your high tops, the barely yanked down panties and ruched fabric creating a frame around your perfect ass and the barest glisten of your pussy peaking through your thighs. He slips his index finger beside its mate, working rough and hard at your clit for all of a minute, taking in every moan and breathy ah, ah, ah with a contented smirk on his face. You whine when they slip furth down and spread your rather than filling your no doubt eager hole. He yanks his cock through the fly of his boxers, button long since gone, and dips his red, leaking tip inside you. Just the barest bit, you gasp, wiggling when he forces his hips backward.

“What the actual fuck, Bo?” you whine, though you do your best to play angry all he can hear is your need.

“Always so fucking need for me,” he grunts, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

He waits for you to open your mouth to shoot back a smartass response of your own to sink his full length in you. All you’re left to do is scream, both hands gripping the windowpane in some vain attempt to feel in control of something. You’re not, he fills you in a way no man ever had and your current position touches every nerve ending all while stretching you till you’re sure he must be ripping you apart. Your violently clenching walls holding him in a vice that seems impossible, it’s different than any time before. He knows you being bent over the kitchen counter, needy and panting for him is only a small part, it’s that he didn’t have to make you. All he had to do was ask.

“You’d think you love me or somethin’,” pulling his hips slowly back until just the tip of him rested inside you once again and surged forward.

“Jesus Christ, yes!” he isn’t sure if you’re answering his question or just blabbering in response to his cock that was now steadily pummeling your insides.

Balls slapping against your clit, brushing that little spot inside that always drove you crazy, pressing hard against your cervix before violently pulling himself from you and doing it all over again, “What’s that, darlin’?”

You shriek when locks his hips against you, pressing deep inside you as he ground against every nerve ending, bruising your hips the counters edge, “I do,” you gasp, knuckles white and nails beginning to splinter the aging wood they gripped,

He leans over you, blanketing himself over you as he works at your roughly as he can from the angle, “You what?”

You bite your lip, the taste of copper fills your mouth, “I love you. I love you alright?” your words ooze with desperation, he’s sure there must be tears in your eyes, “Please, Bo, I’m so close, so cl-”

He ruts against you, digging his fingers between yours, gripping tightly as your now jagged nails bit into his skin, “Just like that, baby,” feeling your entire body tense against him, one of your legs kicks off the floor, “I know you love this,” your body can’t decide what noise to make so you’re left panting and whimpering while a shriek manages to grate your throat, your walls fluttering around him before tightening so incredibly tight he can’t help himself.

You drag him down right along with him, his own violent thrusts as spurt after spurt of cum paints your insides is almost too much. Your insides burn in all the best ways, your body aches more than it ever has before, and you can’t think of any place you’d rather be. You throw your head back against his shoulder, his teeth dig into your neck. He can’t stop himself even as he begins to soften inside you, he never wants you to stop quivering for you. When he pulls from you, he watches your stretched hole pucker and loosens in a futile attempt to grab onto anything, desperate to be tumbling all over again. But you don’t move, a mixture of your tattered nerves and the fact he hasn’t told you that you can yet.

“Come ‘ere,” he paws at you, watching you stand up straight and move everything back into place before taking the two steps into his spread arms, “Next time you leave a note,” wrapping his arms tight around you and burying his nose in your hair, drinking in the smell of you, “Love you too much to worry I lost you.”

Your thumbs trace the curve of his hips, pinkies dragging along the waistband of his boxers, “I’m not going anywhere. Even if you stop wanting me.”

Vincent would make sure of that. 


End file.
